Intimacy
by ChaoticIrony
Summary: She didn't know who he was. Didn't know his name. Didn't know his age. Didn't know what he did for a living. She didn't know anything about him. All she knew was that she was currently experiencing the most intense pleasure she had ever felt in her life. And he was giving it to her.
1. Flickers

**M for Mature. You've been warned.**

**Not sure how long this one will be yet, but I've got at least four chapters in progress at the moment. This is slightly AU, but I don't really want to give too much away, so I'll leave the description at that. :) There is a short blurb of the plot on my profile if you want a better idea of what's going on.**

**P.S. I love reviews, so let me know what you think! XD**

**Kakashi and Sakura are the creation of Masashi Kishimoto.**

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><p><strong>Flickers<strong>

She didn't know who he was.

Didn't know his name. Didn't know his age.

Didn't know what he did for a living.

She didn't know if he had a dog, or two cats.

Didn't know if he was a bachelor, or if he had a wife and six or seven kids at home.

She didn't know anything about him.

All she knew was that she was currently experiencing the most intense pleasure she had ever felt in her life. And he was giving it to her.

The man in her arms groaned as he drew her nipple into his mouth, and she threw her head back as she arched forward involuntarily. Her hands clasped at his strong shoulders, desperately trying to hold on as he pushed her against the tiles, holding her up by her thighs, which were currently wrapped around his narrow, naked hips. Warm water cascaded over her head and shoulders, and streamed over her breasts and into his mouth where pale lips met cerise velvet; lips that were surrounded by a short, rough stubble – it agitated her porcelain skin making the once pearly surface blush furiously. More water flowing from the shower head sprayed directly onto his head turning his gun-metal hair to an unusual smoky-blue.

His strong fingers dug deeply into her thighs, and she hissed at the painful yet strangely pleasurable feeling. He unlatched himself from her breast to crush their lips together again, his tongue swiftly entering her mouth as his arms slowly lowered her to the floor. His fingers spider-walked up over her abdomen to cup her breasts firmly in his hands, causing a long, low moan from her throat; their tanned, calloused surface and the latent power that simmered beneath, a magnificent juxtaposition to the creamy, pliant mounds encapsulated within them.

He turned her, both slowly yet urgently; gently and firmly at the same time, and she turned her head as her body went – trying to keep their lips connected as long as she was able – before all she could do was press her warm cheek to the cool damp tiles. She felt the heat then as his own body met her back, and his arms crossed around her; his right hand sliding over her breasts, squeezing the first in its path before closing over the second and remaining there, her abdomen clenching as his left hand passed briefly over her pelvis before gripping to her furthermost hip.

She gasped as his lower forearm suddenly thrust her upwards and backwards, pressing her firmly against his own groin and the burning firm flesh and muscle that she felt there, then lowering her gently to the ground before thrusting her backwards again and repeating the action. They continued like this – a rhythmic, pulsing, dance of passion, their bodies sliding together, water intermingling with the perspiration of their pleasure, trickling between their skin and dripping into the eddy which swirled at their feet.

She recognised the signs as her breathing began to change, its rhythm rapidly becoming sporadic and disjointed, and although the man behind her had not yet penetrated her, had not even touched so much as a millimetre of his flesh to the cleft between her thighs, she felt a hot flush pulsate out from deep in her belly, and a rolling wave of pure ecstasy tremor through her.

His pace increased as he recognised the change; the rocking forward of his hips more intense, each pressing together of their flesh applied with greater force than its predecessor. Not only the friction of the actions themselves, but the very _concept_ of what was causing this sublime feeling had her turned on all the more. She didn't know anything about him, and yet she knew _everything_ about him. She was as empty as she had ever been, yet she was full to the brim. They were fucking, yet they were not _fucking_. In some ways, they were barely touching more intimately than if they were two strangers standing pressed together in an overcrowded bus on a bumpy road. Apart from their obvious nudity of course. Although she had a feeling that it wouldn't have mattered if they _were_ fully clothed, she would still be writhing in ecstatic pleasure.

Her eyes squeezed tight and her mouth fell open as she felt that familiar starburst within her, and the world around her faded from her senses as she feebly tried to grip the slippery tiles against her fingers, and her legs turned to jelly beneath her.

The first sensation she felt again was his wrists, slipping beneath her armpits, and she slumped into them as she felt the last of her orgasm fade away. He waited patiently, still moulded to her back, his face pressed into the curve of her neck. He would know exactly when she was ready – he always did – and then he would turn her gently to face him and she knew that this time, when he finally entered her and they were joined in the most intimate of ways, it would still be no different from the last. Although they would be connected as superlatively as any two people physically could be, their pleasure could not be bested. Every time they were intimate he took her on a journey that rose to the heights of Everest, till her ecstasy threw her from the peak and she floated back down.

Now, as she felt his hand drop to turn her, and once more she felt the rising anticipation begin to slowly throb deep within her, she could not wait to climb back up, and do it all over again.

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><p>He sat, perched in a tatty occasional chair next to the inside front door of the very small and tastelessly decorated motel room. He was pulling his socks back on as she walked back into the room from the ensuite, wearing a small white towel around her body and another around her head like a turban. Both items looked thankfully a lot newer and cleaner than their current accommodation. Her clothes littered the floor, evidence of the eager state in which they both usually arrived, and she bent to pick the items up along the way back to the other side of the room, following the trail which lead like breadcrumbs from the bathroom to the foot of the bed. When she got there, she tossed the towel around her body casually aside and stood completely unclothed, clearly comfortable with her own nakedness, unlike most of the other women he had been with.<p>

He watched as she pulled her skirt on. It was black, and pleated at the base like a fan, coming to rest at her mid-thigh. She then lifted her arms up and pulled the towel on her head loose, letting her long damp hair spill onto her shoulders, before rubbing it furiously into her hair in an attempt to dry it. It was such an unusual colour, a rich magenta at the moment, though he knew that it would dry back to a very pale pastel pink shortly. The vigorous movement shook her whole body, and her breasts jiggled in a way that reminded him of the heads of those little toy dogs. Like the ones that you stick on your dashboard.

Finished, she tossed the towel on top of the other on the bed and pulled her black shirt on – it had just occurred to him that she had been wearing no undergarments when she arrived - and reached for her keys and purse.

He stood from his chair, as he always did – a long ingrained propriety instilled by his mother no doubt – although, as usual there seemed to be no need for such pleasantries and courtesy. She spared no glance for her recent lover, as she took the three or four steps to the door, turned the handle and abruptly exited his life. Not to be seen again for the next (he did the math swiftly in his head), roughly . . . one hundred and sixty five and a half hours.

As swiftly and as incomprehensibly as it had begun, their act was over.

They were strangers once more.

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><p>Kakashi flopped back onto the couch in his cheap one-room apartment and let out a deep sigh.<p>

He looked around the dingy abode and thought, not for the first time, that he really was a bit of a loser. His lounge was a mess. Last week's washing still lay in a heap on the couch, there were cigarette butts crammed to almost overflowing in the ashtray on the coffee table, which also served as a platform for several empty Ichiraku Ramen containers which were on display, piled high like a bizarre 'nouveau' art sculpture. And when he looked through the alcove to the kitchen he could see it wasn't much better in there either. Dirty dishes were stacked up in the sink, and he imagined if he opened up the fridge right now there would be at least four things that would be inedible, if not unrecognisable.

He wasn't really a naturally messy person. It was just that his job was very demanding. He would often get a knock on his door late at night and have to take off immediately on a week long mission. Sometimes even months long. He didn't even want to _think_ about what he'd discovered in the fridge after coming home from those missions. He had been unusually lucky over the past few months though. Most missions had been short and sweet and most only lasting a day or two, and, incredibly none had so far interfered with his standing Thursday afternoon appointment.

He sighed again as he thought back over the last few months. This was how it played out every Thursday night. Every time he arrived home after his weekly rendezvous he would flop down onto that very couch and let out a big sigh.

Of course, in the beginning, his sighs were different. They were full of accomplishment, and contentment. Full of that feeling that you get when you think you've finally found something that you're really good at.

That was back in the good old days. Back when this had just been a harmless bit of fun.

Kakashi sighed again, and was immediately reminded of its subtle change. No, now when Kakashi sighed it definitely sounded much more like regret, with a little bit of discontent thrown in. Not to mention confusion. There was a whole _lot_ of that in there.

He had let it happen. He had let happen what he had promised he would _never_ let happen.

He had let her get into his head.

He didn't know how someone who hadn't said more than two words to him in the entire time he'd known her could be so damn irritating. He was fascinated by her, yet every little thing that she did in their small amount of time together eventually became very frustrating for him. He wasn't talking about the sex – the sex was, as it always was, fantastic – he was talking about the little things that she did. The habitual things, the nuances, the subtleties, all what he collectively referred to as the 'flickers'; the small glimpses into the real woman. These were the moments that she wasn't just putting on some act. When it wasn't just some harmless game that they were playing, and she let go of herself, and that unbreakable mask would slip, even if only for a fraction of a second, and he would see her for the person that she truly was.

The way that she would habitually bite her bottom lip when he touched her just right. The tiniest curl of the corner of her lip when something tickled her. The way she dug her nails into his shoulders when she came.

They were like her poker tells, and Kakashi had always been rather good at poker. He had been told he had a great poker face himself. Although that could have had something to do with the eye patch and face mask. It _was_ easier to hide your glee when three-quarters of your face was covered, after all.

Regardless, he knew each and every one of her tells, and had enjoyed them up until recently, when she had begun to do something else that was sure to drive him insane before long.

It was the way that her eyes had begun to, very infrequently, flick up to lock onto his own, and for some reason every time they did his heart began to beat a little faster. To him it seemed only natural for her to look at him, hell, he was looking at her all the time. But because she had not looked at him once during sex before, and she still did it so rarely now, it had become like a sacred event for him.

When their eyes locked for that briefest of moments, Kakashi felt like he was looking straight into her soul. Her eyes were so beautiful, a clear, bright jade colour that complimented her unusual pale pink hair perfectly, and her thick black lashes and kohl-lined lids were like ornately framed windows to her identity. She was inside that beautiful cage, and he found himself becoming more and more curious about what was locked inside.

He was dying to look at her with his Sharingan, to study every inch of her with his incredible visual ability. He hadn't up till now because he didn't want to frighten her. He managed to keep it closed easily while they were together, even when he took his mask and eye patch off, because it was like second nature to him. She hadn't asked about it, to his relief, and he imagined the long scar cutting through his eye and down his cheek must have frightened her enough not to want to know. More likely she just didn't care.

The more he dwelt on the situation he was in now, the more it seemed like a bizarre dream. He still couldn't fathom what would have caused her to choose him over all of the other more 'normal' looking men in the pub that day. He had just been relaxing in a corner booth, his mask drawn down below his chin as he sipped slowly at his sake, when he had been overwhelmed with the feeling that someone was looking at him. He didn't brush it off as easily as some would, because Kakashi had learned over his years that if there was one thing he could always rely on it was his instincts. And sure enough, when he casually glanced around the bar he caught a bright pair of green eyes with his own; eyes that looked quickly away the second they made contact.

She had looked again, and he had looked back. A few purposeful glances later and she had sauntered over to stand next to his booth. He'd smiled up at her, and asked her if she wanted to sit down.

"_No._" Came the unexpected reply, and for a moment Kakashi wondered if he had entirely misread the interaction. Until,

"_Would you like to come with me?_"

Kakashi had to check himself not show his utter surprise at her boldness. She was stunning, of that there was no doubt. But her confidence . . . it had been her confidence that had drawn him to her. She knew what she wanted and she did not hesitate to ask for it. Kakashi had never met such an audacious woman, and it fascinated him immediately.

And so he said nothing. Just stood and deposited a small stack of notes onto the table to pay for his tab, and followed her out the door.

That first day he had thought all of his birthdays had come at once, and when she had slipped away afterwards with nothing but a small smile goodbye, he had bid adieu to a beautiful girl and one memorable afternoon.

Or so he told himself.

So why had he found himself suddenly indulging in a slowly-sipped drink in that bar every afternoon that following week? And if he was just there for an innocent drink, why did he find his eyes wandering the punters there, and why did his gaze fix so avidly on the doors whenever they swung open with a sigh?

And why, oh why on the Thursday afternoon following did he rejoice at seeing the coral haired beauty who once again sauntered towards his booth?

But it had just felt so good again that second time; and Kakashi had found himself rushing through Friday to Wednesday, just waiting for the next Thursday to come. And again she was there. And he soon found himself craving each interlude as quickly as the last had ended.

He rubbed his face wearily as he was brought back to reality. He had thought he had hit the jackpot. No tongue-tied beginnings. No tiresome small talk. No uncomfortable silences, or awkward moments when you realise your lover is on an entirely different page. No arguments about who loves who more, or who's cheating on who. A silent sexual relationship seemed to be the answer to all of Kakashi's hesitations to fulfilment.

He hung his head and laughed darkly.

If only he'd known.

He was a fool.

And he was living his life around Thursday afternoons.


	2. Fallacies

**A/N: Yes, I'm still writing this! Enjoy :)**

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><p><strong>Fallacies<strong>

Three and a half times.

That was how often she had made eye contact with him today. He called one a half because her eyes had flickered up to his lower lid and away again so fast he would be cheating to count it as a whole. He watched her carefully now from his chair, his mind trying to force her eyes to look at him again by the use of sheer telekinesis as she went about her preparations to leave. His efforts were of course fruitless, and not just because telekinesis was a myth he had yet to capture with his Sharingan. After their copulations she was a woman on a mission, determined to exit his presence with as little interaction as humanly possible.

It wasn't that she was embarrassed, nor in an apparent rush to leave his company. She went about her re-dressing in a calm and almost lazy manner, pausing every now and then to stretch languidly in the warm afternoon sun which bathed half of the bed in shades of saffron. He took the opportunity to study her more closely. He was a man of deduction, a master of observation. Perhaps he could learn what she would not say by her behaviours alone.

The clothing she wore was, as always, nondescript. She tended to wear a similar black skirt and a plain coloured shirt every time they met. It was an average enough style of clothing, he saw many other young ladies dressed similarly every day, yet something about it on her seemed off to him. Both items seemed far too uninteresting for her, and he suspected that she wore such boring attire to purposely throw him off. Her legs, stunning though they were, seemed rather pale for her to be wearing that length of skirt regularly, although that wasn't the only thing. Kakashi couldn't quite put his finger on it. It just didn't seem her. Likewise there was something odd about her shirt. As he studied it in the beam of sunshine from the window the fabric seemed to sheen beautifully, indicating that the material was probably silk.

Such a decadent fabric choice would certainly indicate that she had enough money to spend on such a luxury. Of course, it could have been a gift from a well off friend, but Kakashi didn't think so. She had the air of someone who was used to being at the top of the food chain. Her perfume was classy and delicate, yet could last for days (it lingered on his skin and clothes long after they had been washed, much to his combined pleasure and irritation); a clear indication of its quality and therefore expensiveness. Her nails were immaculately manicured, likewise her feet, and her teeth were white as porcelain and straight as an arrow. All indications that she was certainly not without sufficient means to look after herself well.

She was confident, of that he was certain. She had used that trait to draw him in, he could see that clearly now as he reflected back on that day. However, somehow it felt almost . . . _staged_ to him. In those brief three and a half flickers of today, he saw something that looked to Kakashi curiously like uncertainty, not confidence. There was doubt in there, and it irked Kakashi to no end.

Who was that doubt for, he wondered. For herself? For _him_? For this whole fucked up situation?

Her outward impassivity was driving him slowly mad, and he found himself in the unfamiliar situation of regretting his own modus operandi. How many people had he driven mad like this, with his aloof, uninterested nature? He felt a sudden pang of regret at his lack of consideration. It did nothing to dampen his own frustration at being on the receiving end.

His torturer rose from her perch, now fully dressed, setting in motion once again their carefully rehearsed final act.

Then Kakashi surprised himself.

He felt his mouth open involuntarily as she made her way towards the front door. He even heard a noise forming in his throat, which was funny, because he had no idea what he intended to say if that noise was to turn into a word, let alone a whole sentence.

Whatever it was his subconscious brain had planned never came to fruition. He forcefully snapped his mouth shut, afraid now to break the fragile film of silence that had embraced their interactions for so long. Afraid that if it shattered it could not be repaired.

If they didn't have that silence, what would hold them to one another?

Too late he realised he was alone again, embraced in a different kind of silence, this one empty and cold.

But which silence did he prefer? It was becoming increasingly difficult to tell.

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><p>That night he dreamed. In pink.<p>

He dreamed he wandered, lost across a vast barren desert; his throat a dry well of parched stone, his skin withered and crackling like driftwood in a fire.

He felt something land softly in his hair, and he reached up and plucked out a young bud, pink and perfect, even as the skies began to open, and a barrage of blossoms rained down around him in an endless torrent of cerise perfection. He reached out his arm and caught a handful. They were Sakura blossoms. As they hit his hand they melted, oozing through his fingertips and puddling on the ground below; absorbing slowly into the desert floor they left damp patches of blood red, wet sand.

It rained thulian and coral, amaranth and tea rose. Shades of pink streamed silk across the landscape of his mind and would not let go. The pink covered him, surrounded him, leeched into his eyes and his ears, his mouth and his pores. His skin absorbed it, rehydrated by the rosette liquid, swelling full again and smooth.

He tried to gasp as it poured down his throat, but it filled his lungs, choking him. He felt it expanding, pushing against his chest and throat painfully as it tried to burst him like an overinflated balloon. He had run out of air now, and his face contorted as he gulped fruitlessly and the pressure inside of him grew so great that his eyes and nose began to bleed magenta-

He bolted upright in bed clutching at his throat and gasping. It took him a long time to realise that he was back in his bed, in the pitch of night, not a shade of pink to be found.

Almost. His digital clock glowed red in the night, and as his eyes adjusted to the dark it cast pink light across the ceiling.

He grabbed the device and threw it across the room where it shattered, and glowed pink no more.

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><p><em>This is it. I'm going to do it.<em>

Kakashi's heart fluttered with nervousness. He thought again about how ironic it was that he had experienced and witnessed many of the more intimate moments of the woman's private life, and yet here he was, absolutely piss-his-pants-terrified at the prospect of speaking to her.

But he had to speak to her. He just had to.

She was just pulling her jacket up over her shoulders while leaning down to retrieve her purse from the coffee table when he said it.

"-What's your name?"

He just blurted it out. His usually quick mind hadn't been able to come up with anything better, so he just went with it. He had to get it out quickly, before the more rational part of his brain jumped in to stop him.

She stood up abruptly and looked back at him, eyes wide, looking rather like a cornered animal. The look quickly turned annoyed however, and she simply tucked her purse under her arm, grabbed her keys from the side table, and stalked out the door, slamming it behind her.

He sat looking at the door, long after she left, while he smoked his usual post-coital cigarette.

He wished he'd never spoken.

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><p>Nine times.<p>

That was how many times he had washed his Thursday shirt.

He had scrubbed that thing until his fingers were raw and the fibres had begun to fray, yet he could still smell her perfume, lingering around his head wherever he went. He should just throw the bloody thing out, if he hadn't known that the very next Thursday his new one would just be sullied as well.

The smell was irritating him nearly as much as her feigned indifference to him. He was certain now that that was what it was, as the fifth – and, subsequently, last – time she made eye contact with him today was not exactly what he would have called a '_flicker_'. She locked her green eyes onto his dark one, and held them there for what felt like an eternity, even though it was probably only four seconds or so. But for the entirety of those four seconds Kakashi held his breath as they both stopped still, and he could feel her heartbeat increasing with his own.

He was stunned, to say the absolute least. So stunned that he felt his mouth fall open on its own again without his command. He was so unused to not having complete control over his body, these involuntary actions were beginning to feel like purposeful mutiny by his own limbs.

But again he swallowed it down like a difficult pill, forcing whatever it was that was trying to come out back down deep inside him. It hurt as he swallowed it, and he knew know that this wasn't pleasure that he was feeling anymore.

He wasn't even sure why he came any more. If it hurt more than it soothed, how could it be good for him?

She lingered for longer today than Kakashi could ever remember her doing before. She even picked up a magazine from the side table and began to flip through it, mostly uninterested at what she found there, but occasionally pausing on a page. She even rose from the bed and walked past him once or twice, going first to gaze out the window, and then again to the bathroom. That time she walked closer than he expected, her leg almost brushing his knee as she passed. She was tormenting him, and she knew it. And he endured it all as he always had. He sat forward on his chair, his elbows resting on his thighs, and he watched her. His eyes never left her once, but as always, once they had finished, she would not look at him again.

As the minutes ticked by his torment had begun to turn into anger.

The sky was as dark as his mind before she finally reached for her keys and began the walk that Kakashi hated. That short walk to the door and away from him.

And then it happened again. Full blown mutiny this time, his body moved on its own, before he even realised what was happening. Something he had caged up inside him had broken free, and would not be subdued until it had been heard. He reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders, turning her more roughly than he would have liked, but his frustration at her was overwhelming, and he had to do something – _anything_ – to make her acknowledge him. Still she refused to look at him, her head turned defiantly away until he grabbed her chin and forced it towards him. She tried desperately to pull it away again but he held her in place, his eye desperate for contact again, although her own still looked determinedly at the door, like she was willing herself through it and far away from here.

_"Look at me."_

He surprised even himself by the intensity he heard in his tone, the words tumbling out of his throat gritty like shingle against sandpaper. And when her eyes still did not budge-

_"Look at me!"_

Slowly she turned to face him fully, her eyes connecting first with his shoulder, before making their way slowly up his neck, over his chin, across his cheekbone and finally connecting with his own.

As the connection was made, he felt that familiar quick tightening of his chest, but it was cut off as his dark eye fully focused.

He was shocked at what he saw in her eyes. He was expecting to see anger, defiance, accusation; something that put him in his place and made him feel that he was in the wrong. He never expected this.

Her eyes pleaded to him. Begged him to leave it alone. Begged him not to question her - not to ruin what they had. As he looked into her eyes he felt a flood of emotion pass between them, stronger than he ever felt in his life, and it almost floored him, the intensity of that simple connection. Suddenly he couldn't help himself, he had lost all self control and for the first time he slowly opened his Sharingan eye.

He felt her jaw clench as she saw his distinctive kekkei genkai for the first time. Did he imagine that he saw the briefest flicker of recognition pass through those green eyes? It was not unfeasible for her to have seen the trait before, there were others who spent time in the village that had the Sharingan and did not hide it as he did. He saw more clearly than ever now, the depths of those eyes; the thousand impossible shades of green that made them up. Would his next dream be awash with green? He hoped not – avoiding pink had been one thing – but green was near impossible in this town.

He stared further into those depths as she stared right back. As if he were searching for the meaning of life there he probed, his Sharingan burning into his head with the strain of his longing.

But she wasn't there. Why couldn't he see her? Where was she hiding?

Why was he being so unreasonable? He knew he couldn't see her soul through her eyes, even with his Sharingan. He wasn't an idiot. So why was he even trying?

He was going mad, and he knew it.

How long they had stood there staring into one another, he couldn't say. To Kakashi, it felt like days.

He sighed as he slowly closed his Sharingan eye and turned away.

This time it was her turn to watch him, as he hastily pulled his pants on, gathered his things and exited the room.


	3. Fractures

**A/N: Just a reminder, this fic is most definitely M rated, and this chapter is why. Strong language ahead: if you can't stomach that, I suggest you back button it out of here.**

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><p><strong>Fractures<strong>

Twenty. Eight. Times.

He was stunned by this simple observation. She had been colder than usual when they arrived at The Room, but, as the count of her flickers rose and rose, Kakashi felt a very strange feeling beginning to form deep in his gut.

Why had he gone back to That Bar? He had told himself, again and again, not to go. But as hard as he had tried to resist, in the end he could not stop himself. She was his addiction.

Her glances today were anything but. They lingered almost longingly on his lips, his jaw, his cheeks, and most especially his eyes. Each time their eyes met they held, her eyes drinking in his own with a hunger that he had not expected.

He should have been ecstatic. This was what he had wanted after all, a connection with her that went beyond the physical enjoyment of each other's bodies. The intimacy that they shared this time was everything Kakashi had desired; with their eyes locked to one another they fucked with an intensity beyond what he thought was possible. She was sharing herself with him, allowing him to read the effects of every touch, every caress, every thrust of his prick inside her, and how it moved her. He should have been on top of the world.

So what was this sick tightening beginning to form in his belly?

He was now certain he had gone completely mad. Here she was, giving him what he wanted most, and his insufferable mind was brewing up a conspiracy. With every languid stroke of his fingers, she moaned without inhibition. With every mould and squeeze of his palms, she breathed hot and short. And when his velvet tongue tasted her, the firm wet muscle applying the perfect pressure and pace that he had learned and memorised, her body shuddered and rippled, and the scent and flavour of her filled him as she came. There was no falseness about her. Not tonight. She gave herself to him fully. Nothing was hidden, and nothing withheld. Her walls clenched around him in a painful pleasure as he thrust himself in and out of her. Her nails clawed into his back as he found the places deep within her that only he knew.

And therein lay the problem. A thought that should have occurred to him long ago, had only now reared its ugly head, and now that it had, it would not go away.

_Was_ he the only one who knew those intimate places that made her curl her toes?

Who else was she sharing herself with? He realised again with full force how little he actually knew about her. Did she moan like this for some other man? Did she come as hard, breathe as quickly, drag her nails down someone else's back?

It festered away at him, this unusual emotion. She was his. He may not have known her name, but she had let him inside of her. When he looked into her eyes they told him she needed him, that he was giving her something that no one else had. That was his instinct, and his instincts were rarely wrong.

And she wanted him to leave it at that. He recalled that look in her eyes from last Thursday, when he had finally forced her to acknowledge him. She had said so much with that look. She had asked him to accept what she had given and to ask for no more

Instead, it had made him want much, much more. But these new looks were worrying him. There was a finality to them that terrified him. He tried to hold off as long as he could, and the night was beginning to form outside by the time his balls were aching so much he couldn't hold back his release any longer. His cock was barely soft by the time she pulled herself off of him, away from the bed and into the bathroom which he heard lock behind her.

She showered and dressed in record time, all behind the locked door. He could almost feel the intense emotion radiating out from behind it.

She emerged dressed and ready to go. But this time, instead of moving to The Door, she moved towards his chair, and leaned down to press her lips against his own.

After his initial surprise he moved his mouth against her own, not deepening the kiss, but allowing her to do as she pleased. She deepened the kiss herself, and once again, there were so many things that could never be said aloud conveyed in that silent act. He thought he felt a tiny bead of warmth drop onto his cheek, but when she pulled back her face was dry. Kakashi tried to convince himself it must have been from her hair.

Reluctantly she pulled away from him and moved towards The Door.

The one time he wanted his mouth to open and say the things he could not, it might as well have been glued shut.

As she closed the door behind her he felt the bile rise in throat.

It felt like goodbye.

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><p>She wasn't coming.<p>

The realisation washed over Kakashi slowly, like a gradually rising tide, over the several hours that he sat in That Bar.

He had known. If he was truly honest with himself he had known all along that she wouldn't be there that night. The week had dragged on terribly; his eyes watched the seconds tick away on a variety of clocks with a barely restrained patience, one that threatened to snap at any second. But he had borne it, and now his eyes were fixed to the final clock, the one in That Bar, which now read _half past too late._

He had drunk far too much. He knew it, knew after the seventh sake that he should most definitely stop, but he had to keep going to drown out the impending doom that seemed to be encapsulating him from the inside out. The alcohol surged through his veins. Liquid courage they called it, and right now that suited Kakashi just fine.

He stumbled only slightly as he left That Bar, his fingers gripping only briefly at the doorjamb to assist his exit. The cold night air washed over his face and gave him a little more focus.

Fine. If she wouldn't come to him, he would go to her.

His alcohol fuelled brain refused to acknowledge the flaws in his plan, the most pertinent of which was that if he didn't even know her name, the chances of finding her in a village of this size were slim to nil. Of course, cockiness sometimes brought with it a kind of boldness and impetuousness that a rational mind would never conceive of. The girl had pink hair for kami's sake. He would simply ask every person he saw if they had seen a pink haired woman recently.

He stalked down the street immediately outside of the bar. It was darkening outside now, the early onset that accompanied winter, and twilight had just started to fade into indigo.

A woman with a small child on her hip was his first candidate. He barrelled towards her, the words only half formed on his lips before she gave a sharp squeal of fright and all but ran away from him. He glared after her as she took off, frustrated at her obviously weak disposition, but quickly carried on with his mission.

He was determined to find that cold bitch that had decided to abandon him if it was the last thing he did. Who did she think she was? She thought she could just use him, to take what she wanted and give nothing back, but he would not allow that to happen. If she thought that he was some kind of sucker who would just roll over and let her leave, she didn't know who she was dealing with. His rage was growing with every step across the pavement, and he vaguely realised he had already passed several viable sources of information. He grabbed the next person who walked within his grasp.

"Have you seen a girl with pink hair?" He all but shouted at the young man, and several other people in the immediate area gasped aloud and moved further away as the youth began to stutter before him.

"P-p-pp-pink hair?"

"Yes! Pink hair, have you seen any?"

"I d-dd-d-don't think so...?"

"You don't think so? Or you haven't?"

"I haven't! Please, just let go of me!"

Kakashi growled as he pushed the man out of his grasp and continued down the street.

"Have you seen-"

"Leave us alone, or I'll get the police!" The elderly man shielded his wife and waved his walking stick at Kakashi to keep him at a safe distance. Everyone else had already hurried out of the vicinity at his last attempt.

Well, this clearly wasn't working. He needed somewhere busier, where he could slip through the crowd to corner people unaware. He vaguely recalled there being a night market on Thursdays. Not that he ever went to it – Thursday evenings he was usually sitting in his apartment, occupied with post-coital reflection. He moved quickly through the streets in the direction he thought it was, and pretty soon he began to sense the hum and heat of many bodies.

This was a much better idea. He stopped at every stand, trying to put a leash on his rabidity long enough to get some answers from the vendors there. He asked at least a dozen of them, and the customers waiting to be served too, with no luck. He had almost sobered up enough to realise the ridiculousness of what he was doing when-

"Excuse me," A man with a very round face called to him from behind a dango stand. "Did you say you're looking for a woman with pink hair?"

Kakashi gave the man his full attention.

"There's one right there if you're not fussy," He pointed to a small park just beyond the market. "But it looks like she's already taken, friend."

Kakashi spun around to follow the direction of the man's chubby finger. He could just make out the shapes of two figures and he pushed his way through the crowds of people to get a better view. His heart was racing in his chest as he moved towards a small public building that bordered the park, and he leaned against the brick wall there, taking a moment to calm himself.

Despite his complete awareness of the rarity of pink hair he tried to convince himself that he would see someone else when he finally peeked around the edge of the wall. Surely it was not possible that he could have found her so easily. The stars could not possibly have aligned perfectly enough for her to be the one that was standing just a dozen metres away from him. With this certainty in the logical part of his mind, and his subconscious telling him otherwise, he steeled his nerves and looked.

He was not surprised to finally confirm that it was her. Nor was he surprised to see her standing with a man. Even the little dark-haired boy that they watched playing on a swing with the adoring gazes that only parents could have did not surprise him.

What slapped him with brutal force across the face like a ton of bricks however, was that the man she was standing with was none other than Sasuke Uchiha.

His heart clenched with a sudden painful force that could have killed him, and he barely managed to hold himself upright against the wall. His mind could not process what he was seeing. It couldn't quite comprehend the sight of his raven-haired colleague's arm wrapped around her shoulders like it belonged there.

And she leaned into him. He drew her close to whisper something into her ear, and she laughed – she actually _laughed _– and it was so foreign to him that he took a step back, away from her, away from this stranger that he had fucked, but whose name he didn't know.

Except he did know. Sasuke had told him – had _introduced them_ for kami's sake. It had been a long time ago, and at a club, of all things, a place that Kakashi detested almost as much as he did hospitals. He had been dragged along by some of his colleagues to celebrate the success of a particularly difficult mission, and Sasuke had turned up late, and with his wife on his arm, earning more than a little disgruntlement from his fellow shinobi. They all knew the rules – partners who were not shinobi were not welcome. It was their time to blow off steam, to speak freely about their work, and to sleep freely with whom they wished, if they wished. Outsiders complicated things. Sasuke was one of their youngest though, and clearly wanted to show his new wife off. While the rest of their squad gave the couple the cold shoulder almost immediately, Kakashi swallowed a sigh long enough for a brief introduction before the hint was taken, and Sasuke hustled her home.

Kakashi struggled to recall the moment now. He'd barely glanced at the girl. He was certain he would have remembered if her hair had been pink, but under the bluish glow that bathed the entire club all he could see was that it was light and he'd assumed it was blonde. He'd thought she was quite pretty, but he hadn't expected any less from the wife of an Uchiha. She'd seemed just as disinterested as him, and she'd let Sasuke do all of the talking. He'd said her name was-

"Sakura," Kakashi croaked the name aloud, tasting it in his mouth. _He'd said her name was Sakura._

He felt pain in his palms and he realised his hands were clenched tightly at his sides, his nails almost drawing blood. _Sakura._ Her name sent a cold chill down his spine.

Had she known who he was all along? Did she plan this from the beginning? He ripped his hitae-ate from his head and threw it to the pavement, watching the scene before him now with both of his eyes. This woman he saw now was a complete disparity to the one he thought he knew. Every laugh, every giggle, every crinkle of her eyes and blush of her cheeks was a knife in his heart. These were the things she was keeping from him, the things she was not willing to share, and so he took them from her now greedily, imprinting them all into his mind with his Sharingan.

How could she have done this to him? As he thought that thought he wasn't even sure who he meant by _him_. Himself, or Sasuke? How could she have done it to either of them? He had known she could be cold, but he had thought it was all an act. But this, this was unforgiveable.

He watched as Sasuke tickled her under her ribs, and she darted away from him squealing in delight. She walked backwards away from him defensively as he stalked her, before he pounced at her and she ran to grab their son and held him up in front of her as a shield. It was the boy's turn to squeal then as Sasuke tickled him and his mother held him in place blowing raspberries on his cheeks.

And Kakashi couldn't look away. The domestic bliss before him burned into his eyes, but his mind had converted it before it was imprinted into his brain, already replacing his colleague with his own image in that scene. He had never been a jealous man, but right in that moment he found himself _hating_ his friend.

He continued to watch as Sasuke lifted the boy from his mother's arms and carried him over to the rope bridge, holding his son around the waist as he carefully worked his way across. Sakura clapped and cheered as she watched.

Then the wind blew her hair suddenly around her shoulders, and a small ball that had been discarded in the dirt rolled past her. She turned to grab it, and as she reached for it something made her look up.

And then the ball was forgotten.

She stopped cold. Her eyes were locked on him for a heart stopping few seconds, and Kakashi could barely breathe as he waited for her reaction.

She simply straightened slowly and turned back around and walked up to her husband's side putting her arm around his waist.

He felt his fury rising again, and briefly wondered if he had misjudged her as an intelligent woman. Surely she knew that he would not just walk away. If she chose to ignore him now there was going to be a scene, and he was certain that they both knew it would not be pretty. But she redeemed herself somewhat, when after a moment, she leaned in and spoke to her husband briefly, he nodded, and she turned to walk back in Kakashi's direction.

Her eyes never made contact with him once. Even when she walked past him and grabbed his arm, pulling him deep into the alleyway alongside what he now realised was a public toilet. She only stopped once they had reached the dead end, a dark and cluttered space littered with old boxes and wooden pallets.

Finally she turned to face him, the anger radiating off of her a new level of emotion that gave Kakashi a not unwelcome thrill.

"What the hell do you think you're doing here?"

Success, at last. Her chilling tone gave him no remorse; Kakashi couldn't help but feel a strange sense of excitement that he had managed to make the ice queen speak.

"You missed our appointment, _Sakura_."

Her face pinched in surprise at the sound of her name coming from his lips. Her whole body tensed up, like cornered prey, but very quickly her eyes narrowed again dangerously at him.

"It was never a fixed booking."

"I beg to differ." Her eyes flicked to the unseen direction of her husband and his hand darted out to pull her face back towards him. "You've made a commitment to me, Sakura. Just because you didn't say it, doesn't mean it didn't happen." His fingers gripped tighter around her chin.

She glared at him defiantly. "I've _never_ promised you anything."

His other hand reached up to lay against her exposed neck, his thumb brushing gently over her throat, even as his first hand clutched firmly and dangerously at her jaw. "But you did. Your eyes told me everything I needed to know."

"Let go of me," She ground out as she tried to free herself from him, her curled up fists pressing against his chest, trying to push him away. "Let go of me, I have to go back."

"No."

Her eyes narrowed further. "Alright, I don't _have_ to go back, I _want_ to go back."

"You're lying to yourself now, Sakura."

"I'm not lying." She stopped her struggles. "I don't want you anymore. I did, once. But I got what I needed from you, and now it's over."

She was so defiant, looking straight into his eyes as the lie spilled from her throat. And if he hadn't seen that tell-tale flicker, he may have even believed it.

"So what will you do now then?" He moved closer against her, breathing the words into the shell of her ear, and felt as she tried to hide the shudder that rolled through her by pushing him harder away. He held her tighter. He could feel his erection straining against the front of his trousers. "Go back to that lie that you've been living? Pretend that every time he fucks you, you won't imagine that it's my cock that's making you wet?"

The flicker of lust in her eyes contradicted her actions, as she saw the direction this conversation was leading them to and tried to push her way out of his grasp with a frantic desire to shut out his words which rang truth in her ears.

"Let go of me."

But Kakashi couldn't stop now. He had opened the dam, and he would be damned if he wouldn't let the whole river wash them away. He pressed his hard prick against her and moved his hand down from her neck to squeeze one of her breasts roughly as he spoke. "Will you touch yourself when he's not there, and imagine it's my tongue licking your cunt?"

"No," She breathed hot and hard, even as she tried to block her ears to the words that she didn't want to acknowledge. "Stop it! It's not true! Why can't you just leave me alone!" His cock was digging into her hip, impossibly hard like a chunk of marble. And contradictory. Things that hard were supposed to be cold, but this was burning heat.

His free hand moved on its own, and he pulled her skirt up and roughly kneaded at the back of her one of her thighs and up to her backside, pulling her core hard against his erection.

"Where is it?" He ground out. "I want to taste it, I want to taste your cunt." His hand shook as he held her tightly by her jaw. She gasped as he shoved his wandering hand unyieldingly down the front of her pants and forced two fingers between the soft flesh there.

"Have you let _him_ taste it?" She whimpered as he drove his fingers to the hilt. "Is that why you shower before you go home to him? To wash the taste of my cock from your snatch?"

She gasped again loudly as he thrust his fingers in and out of her, and she cried out as he added a third to stretch her more fully. He was so angry, she could see the jealous fury in his eyes, and she could feel her jaw bruising with his increasing grip. She was frightened, but she was also so turned on by both his furious thrusting inside her and his possessive rage that she was already close to orgasm.

His whole body pushed up against her, pinning her to the wall, his nose and masked mouth was pressed into her cheek, the stubble on his chin prickling against her jaw. His voice came out as a rough growl. His fury was getting the better of him.

"Do you kiss me after you've had his cock in your mouth?" He could suddenly feel her muscles clenching around his fingers and he knew she was close. But this was about his satisfaction, not hers, so he pulled his hand abruptly from her crotch and shoved the front of her panties aside just enough so he could thrust himself inside her. His prick was so hard it was painful, and his building rage did not surmount his need for her, it enhanced it.

She cried out again as he entered her, a clear indication that despite her apparent resistance she could not hold back the pleasure he was inflicting on her. They both gasped and panted, their bodies sheened in sweat and their breath coming in clouds of steam, the heat generated by their passion transposing with the cold night air. Kakashi felt like a mad dog; consumed by both lust for the woman beneath him, and by his irrational fury at her perceived betrayal.

"Do you say his name when you fuck him? Does he make you come?" He thrust harder, driving her against the stone wall at her back. The woman before him gave no answer other than to moan as he increased his pace dramatically. "Does he?" He shook her by the neck he still grasped, challenging her to answer him.

"Does he-"

"No!"

"No what?"

"No, he doesn't make me come!" She managed to barely string the sentence together as they both neared their climax. Kakashi pummelled into her and she hung onto his shoulders for dear life before they both dropped their heads back as his heat burst inside of her and her own body exploded into orgasm simultaneously.

They held each other as their breathing subsided for a long time. And then he watched with utter helplessness as her mouth opened, and she spoke the words he didn't want to hear.

"But I love him."

Kakashi slowly released her from his grip, and she slid down the wall, planting both her feet back on solid ground.

He couldn't even look at her. He had filled her up with his rage and it had passed from him just like that. All he felt now was shame. And the sickness of what was to come.

He couldn't. She couldn't. It wouldn't work, none of it - and he knew it all too well – but it didn't stop him from his irrational desire to _make_ her leave her life for him. But even as the thought entered his head he knew it was impossible.

Sasuke was his colleague, but more importantly, he was his friend. They had a child. They were a family. No matter how much they clearly desired each other, they both knew that neither of them would tear that apart.

"Why?" He managed to croak. "Why did you start this, Sakura?" He was pleading with her now. This was his final closure. He needed confirmation from her of what he already knew in his heart. "You knew this was how it was going to end."

He finally managed to look into her eyes, and all he saw there was sadness and regret. He turned to face her fully, grasping her shoulders lightly as one burning question demanded to be answered.

"Tell me you didn't know all along who I was to him."

"No!" She grasped him back, her forehead pressing against his, her breath hot against his chin as she spoke. "I didn't know, I swear!" A progression of single tears were rolling down her cheeks now, and there was a certain desperation to her voice that begged that he trust her in this. "I would never have chosen you if I'd known. The first time I knew who you were was when you showed me your Sharingan."

The tears spilled from her eyes now, as she realised the true cause of his rage at her. He pulled her to him as she cried out all of the emotions that had built up through the months of their union into his shirt, washing it all effortlessly away like an unclogged drain. Though he was incapable of crying, he shared every moment of her hopelessness in that moment. He knew that she was telling him the truth. He had seen that flicker of recognition in her eyes when she had seen both of his for the first time, and that had been the beginning of the end. Sasuke would have told her about his colleague who was not an Uchiha who nevertheless possessed the Sharingan. Every Uchiha knew about him, and now, she was one of them.

He stroked his hand gently down her back as her sobbing began to subside. There was not a fraction of anger left in him now, and he cherished this moment that he was sharing with her as much as he would cherish every moment that they had shared together in That Room.

There was still one final thing that he needed to know though. One thing that he needed to hear from her before he forced his feet to carry him away from her forever.

"Sakura," He pulled back from her just enough to look down at her face. "If you love him, then . . . why?"

She sniffed, and reached up one hand to wipe her eyes. She took a long moment to think before answering him, looking him in the eyes when she was ready to.

"I love Sasuke with all of my heart, really I do. He's a wonderful father. He's everything I ever wanted for my family." She dropped her eyes from his in shame. "But no one is perfect." She took a deep breath before saying what she really meant. "I just . . . I just needed an excitement that he couldn't give me."

She looked cautiously back up at him, and he looked into her eyes seriously as he considered her words.

It all fell into place for him. This woman in his arms that he had thought was the most complicated creature in the world was quite simple really. She had wanted to raise a family and to be a mother and she had found the best man in the world that she could possibly have to achieve those things. And once she had those things she had tried to put them above everything else, and to ignore that secret side of her she kept locked away. But in the end, it had overcome her. She was a passionate, sexual _woman_, and as much as she loved her husband he just could not provide her with the stimulation that she needed to keep that part of her satisfied.

And so she had searched for someone to help her. And she had found him.

He couldn't help but feel in awe that she had shared that secret part of herself with only him. He would forever be the only man who knew the truth about her, the only man who had the pleasure of meeting the creature that she would now lock away again for good. And he knew beyond a doubt that she would.

She would hide that part of herself away forever. She would choose to live only half of a life. For her child, for her husband. She would make a sacrifice of part of herself in exchange for them.

She was an incredible woman that he had had the privilege of sharing a beautiful thing with, but he too would walk away now, for her. Now that he knew that she would be ok, that she was strong enough to do it, he could do it too. Her half life would be a happy one, full of love, and that was all that he needed to hear.

He leaned down and brushed her hair back from her eyes, and the tears began to spill again as she saw in his eyes that he had understood her. It was time for goodbye. Her chin trembled as he pulled his mask down and pressed his lips against her own. He didn't know if he had deepened it or if she had, but as their tongues met for the last time everything that they would have, or could have said to one another over those unforgettable months of Thursdays flowed between them in a flood, filling them both with everything they would need to get them through. Withdrawal would come hard as it always did when an addiction is wrenched away, and they would take as much as they could in this last hit.

Finally, with more effort than he had ever had to use in his entire life, Kakashi pulled himself from her, and without a backwards glance, he walked away.

He had thought he had hit the jackpot. No tongue-tied beginnings. No tiresome small talk. No uncomfortable silences, or awkward moments when you realise your lover is on an entirely different page. No arguments about who loves who more, or who's cheating on who. A silent sexual relationship had seemed to be the answer to all of Kakashi's hesitations to fulfilment.

He hung his head and laughed darkly.

If only he'd known.

He had been a fool.

But he would always have the memory of those Thursday afternoons.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Fin.<em>**

**A/N: And there it is. I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. I was actually crying as I wrote the end... perhaps someday I'll actually write a happy ending for these two, but I don't see it in the foreseeable future. But I am going to have a change of pace from the angst for a while - next up, an Itachi x Sakura romcom.**


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